


A Hand to Hold and a Hand Held

by LadyLondonderry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teachers, Famous Louis, M/M, Mpreg, Non-Famous Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-10 17:52:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7855084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLondonderry/pseuds/LadyLondonderry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Harry goes to the One Direction concert one year with his sister, he doesn't expect to go home with the amazing Louis Tomlinson himself.</p><p>But then, he <i>really</i> doesn't expect that night to have an impact on the rest of his life either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Hand to Hold and a Hand Held

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chelseafrew](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chelseafrew/gifts).



> Thanks for the opportunity, I don't think I fulfilled the exact prompt you gave - the story sort of ran away with me so I hope you like it!

The thing is, Harry Styles hasn’t really had many one night stands. 

It’s not like he has anything against them, per say, or people who have a lot of them, it’s just that he’s generally a lot more into relationships than he is into mostly-anonymous sex.

But then again, getting the chance to spend the most wonderful, magical night with a beautiful man with the voice of an angel is entirely worth breaking his chastity streak.

The room he wakes up in is huge and airy. The first thing he sees (and feels) are the windows. They’re open, letting the curtains billow out and letting in a pleasant breeze. There’s a small potted cactus on the windowsill which, if Harry’s being honest, looks half-dead.

The more he becomes aware of his surroundings, the more he notices just how fucking _soft_ the bed he’s lying on is. He feels as though he could snuggle so far into this bed that he’d emerge in Narnia.

That doesn’t even make sense. But who cares, this bed is lush! 

The downy comforter that’s covering him is pulled up almost to his chin, but when he shifts minutely he realises there’s an additional heavy weight on his waist. 

Ah yes, Louis Tomlinson. The boy with the golden voice.

Harry takes a deep breath in and when he lets it out he finds that he can’t stop smiling. Last night was _perfect_.

He’d taken his sister Gemma out for her birthday to the One Direction concert (it’d been a brilliant coincidence, that the one band they both loved was playing in the city on her birthday). Afterward, still high from the concert, they’d hit up a nightclub down the road. Gemma had almost immediately found a group of friends and disappeared into the crowd, leaving Harry at the bar to sip down virgin margheritas (as he was the designated driver). 

And well, when he was approached by a small voy with a quiff and a scratchy voice like autumn leaves, whomhe immediatley recognized from the gig earlier that night, it was easy to act just a little dipsy as he was led by the wrist to the dance floor.

He remembers dancing for what felt like hours, until it deconstructed to Harry simply resting his head on Louis’s shoulder, and letting Louis do the work to slowdance them around the floor. Louis had let out a couple remarks about how he didn’t realise he’d invited a sloth to the dance floor. Harry had laughed way too hard at that, but had incited giggles from Louis in response.

When they finally made it off the floor and back to the bar, Harry found a text from Gemma that he had grabbed an Uber and to be safe and use protextion.

 _That’s gross_ , he texted her. _You stop that._

She had texted back several inappropriate emojis after that.

-

Louis wakes up not long after Harry, in that large luxurious bed. He stretches and groans a little and then holds Harry tighter. Harry wonders for a second if maybe Louis has gone back to sleep but then suddenly Louis is whispering in his ear (tickling it and making him laugh) whether he’d like pancakes or waffles or a good English fry-up (Harry chooses the first, and they have it with coffee for Harry and tea for Louis).

They have breakfast in bed and giggle and laugh and then plates are abandoned for another hour for round two following the night before.

When it’s finally time for Louis to leave and therefore kick Harry out, they exchange a (comparatively) chaste kiss before they leave the bed - Harry to find his clothes from the night before and Louis to refill his teacup.

After Harry’s finally located his second sock, he makes his way down the hall to the front room where Louis is standing with a smile on his face, a teacup in one hand and a plastic to-go tumbler in the other.

“I poured you the last of the coffee from the pot,” he says, handing the cup over. “Figured I kept you up too late last night. It’s the least I could do.”

“Thanks,” Harry says, and then pauses. How does one end an amazing one-night-stand? The few he’s had, the guy wasn’t even up when he started his walk of shame.

Louis, thankfully, pulled him out of his thoughts. “I had a really great time.”

“Me too,” Harry smiles wide, knowing that Louis’s attention is naturally drawn to his dimple (which he confessed to loving last night).

“Let’s do it again sometime, yeah?” Louis opens the door for him. “Called you an Uber, but don’t let ‘im know who lives here; it’d be inconvenient to have to get a gate.”

-

It feels like stepping out from a dream when Harry arrives home half an hour later. The sun isn’t bright in the sky any longer - it’s overcast with the kinds of clouds that promise hours of drizzle. Walking up the steps after waving the Uber off, he manages to trip over the top one and spill the cup of coffee from Louis all down his shirt.

And to top it all off, he reaches into his pocket to get his keys only to realise, to his horror, that the keys aren’t there.

Fuck.

Taking a deep breath, he leans against the doorway so the awning above him provides a little protection from the light rain. Setting down the empty cup, he fishes his phone out of his back pocket (oh thank God that’s still there). It’s still got 10%, which is honestly better than he was expecting, and he sends a quick message to his closest friend and flatmate.

 **HARRYBO:** _Please let me in :(_  
**HARRYBO:** _I smell like coffee and lost my keys._  
**NIALLER:** _Tough_

Niall lets him in after laughing at him for his misfortune. Harry pouts but is, as always, eternally grateful that his neighbour and co-teacher Niall holds the spare key to his flat.

He cleans the cup in the sink along with his now coffee-stained shirt as he tells Niall about his night. Niall says he should have never left Louis’s house, just insisted on his hand in marriage immediately. Harry sort of agrees. He hopes against hope for a twitter follow from Louis at least, although he’s not too sure Louis would even be able to find him in those millions of followers he has.

Still, he has hope of some sort of contact. Someday.

-

The first sign that something is wrong comes about a month and a half later, when Harry wakes up at 2 am with intense nausea. It’s all he can do to make it to the toilet before he’s dry heaving into the bowl without even having turned on the light.

It’s not a pleasant night, honestly.

It’s over with fairly quickly, and although he still doesn’t feel well, he manages to get back to sleep, assuming that when he wakes up he’ll make the decision on whether or not to call off work in the morning. Subs are so difficult to find on short notice.

When his alarm does go off at six, he feels (almost) completely fine. 

However, when it begins to happen every night or two, waking up at the early hours of 2 or 3 am and having to run to the toilet to throw up absolutely nothing, he starts to worry that he has a bug. A nasty bug, rather honestly. So he makes an appointment with his doctor to make sure he’s not in the middle of infecting all of his kids with whatever he has.

-

The doctor is pleasant, all things considered. Pushing on his shoulders and his back and his stomach to see if anything hurts (which, Harry is just sort of sore all over at this point so it’s hard to tell). She can’t seem to pinpoint anything so she takes a blood sample and a urine sample to test. After giving blood, Harry runs into not one but two doorways, and is made to sit down and drink an entire orange juice and a packet of jaffa cakes. He’s quite glad that he got a sub for all day because he’s feeling much too tired to go back to work after this.

Niall checks in on him when he gets home from herding kindergarteners around the gymnasium and brings Harry’s favourite; three mini loafs of artisan bread from the bakery around the corner. Harry opens the door and the aroma instantly hits him. For just a moment he thinks he’s going to vomit up what’s left of the orange juice and jaffa cakes, but he forces it back down and ushers Niall inside.

“Did they figure out what’s going on in your poor little tum tum?” Niall asks as he dumps the paper bag of artisan loafs on Harry’s counter.

“Still waiting for the call,” Harry says, plopping back down on the couch. “Maybe I got measles or something.”

“Don’t think you vom from measles,” Niall says thoughtfully, taking the spot next to Harry on the couch. “You get, like, spots or summat.”

“I don’t think you know what measles are at all,” Harry says absentmindedly. _Say Yes to the Dress_ is playing on mute in front of them and he flips the subtitles on in order to not miss even the smallest bit of bridezilla freak-out.

“I think all sicknesses can be boiled down to two categories,” Niall declares, swinging his legs over Harry’s and grabbing the remote, much to Harry’s dismay. “There’s the vomming kind, the spots kind, and the fucked-your-throat kind.”

“That’s incredibly vulgar,” Harry says.

Niall turns up _Say Yes to the Dress_. “Can’t say it ain’t true, though.”

-

The call comes the next day at eight in the morning. Harry has to step out of his art class with a group of primary students finger painting their family trees.

“Styles here,” he says, closing the door behind him even as he can hear Calvin starting an attack with the squeezy bottle of red.

“Hello Mister Styles, this is Holmes Chapel Clinic calling about your test results. Is there a time convenient to come in and discuss them?”

Which, really, should have been his second sign. No one ever calls asking to speak in person if the results are something minor.

Harry swings by on his way home after work and is welcomed into the room with the doctor quickly.

The news they give is delivered even faster.

And Harry leaves the room with six pamphlets for healthy pregnancy and new parents.

-

It really couldn’t be anyone else’s.

That’s what Harry thinks to himself as he lays in bed that night. He hasn’t been in a relationship in about two years, and Louis is the only one he’s been with for about the last six months, give or take. Maybe longer. The point is, it’s definitely Louis.

Oh man, Louis with the beautiful long eyelashes and scratchy morning voice and _singer in the world famous band that’s touring Asia right now_. 

Louis Tomlinson’s baby is growing inside of him.

Harry thinks he might faint.

He heeded Gemma’s advice - they definitely used protection. Yet the little one growing inside of him is absolutely undeniable.

He turns onto his side and places his hands gingerly onto his stomach.

“It’s okay little bean,” he whispers, curling up under his blanket. “There’s a lovely world out here waiting for you, and I’ll make sure it’s ready when you get here.”

-

After a few months, Harry can definitely say that the aches are the worst of it. By the time he’s started showing, he finds that he needs to lay on the couch for hours at a time with heating pads to soothe the horrible aches and pains. He can’t sleep in any comfortable position until he’s got about seven pillows in odd arrangements supporting him, and when he wakes up he inevitably has lost feeling in at least half of his limbs.

Niall is a godsend. The second Harry informs him of the pregnancy, he’s determined to be labelled godfather. He starts delivering baby gifts to Harry’s door before his first trimester is over, along with weird gifts that are supposed to help with the pregnancy.

“It’s for your feet,” Niall informs him when he hands him an odd bowl with lots of things along the side. “To massage them when they’re sore.”

And,

“They’re to help with bone health,” when he delivers a tube of what looks like toothpaste except it’s bright purple.

Harry throws away a lot of what Niall gives him, but he keeps the stuffed animals. Baby bean is going to need lots of stuffed animals, and until then he can use them as extra pillows.

-

In the beginning, he really does try to contact Louis.

The thing is though, he has absolutely no clue how to go about doing that.

“How can I possibly get ahold of him?” He asks Niall one day when they’re on lunch duty together. “He’s like, famous. You can’t just look up famous people online and dial their number.”

“You can’t?” Niall takes a bite of his lasagne. “I hear about fans meeting them all the time, seems like they’re really pretty easy to find.”

Harry’s seen all the fan pictures too. Ever since he had that wonderful night with Louis he’s started looking up One Direction on Twitter when he gets a spare moment and reading updates on where they are and who’s gotten pictures with them. Unfortunately, he’s not been able to get in contact with any of the people who regularly seem to run into them, and honestly he’s not entirely sure he wants to.

He’s got a list going now, of all the ways he’s tried and failed to contact Louis. All their Twitter DM’s are turned off, of course (Liam, Zayn and Louis’s, that is), along with all of their families that Louis knows of. He can’t really just send Tweets out saying that he’s the father of Louis Tomlinson’s future child, because honestly quite a few people already do that on the regular, and they all seem to be a little crazy. Harry doesn’t particularly want to seem crazy.

Unsurprisingly, his house is unlisted, and Harry, to his own deep frustration, cannot remember what his address was. He’s tried calling Uber, but they wouldn’t give out any helpful information either (which was good on them, really). 

So at the moment he finds himself very much quite stuck, and hoping maybe he’ll be one of the lucky ones next, to run into Louis on the street.

-

At eight months, Harry is absolutely huge. he fondly looks back on the times when he was younger and pretending to be pregnant by sticking beach balls and watermelons under his shirt, not realising that today he really would look like he’s got a beach ball stuck under his shirt. It’s terribly difficult to have good self esteem when one looks like they’re wearing a tent, and he bemoans the loss of his ankles, as he no longer has the ability to wear his favourite boots.

He’s spent the last two months turning the spare room in his flat, formerly his office for “grading papers” (as an art teacher, it’s just an excuse to have a fancy looking room), into a nursery. He’s roped in Niall (with beer) and his mum and sister (with promises of baby photos), and it’s rather presentable now. He’s already gotten a sub for paternity leave at school, and he’s just riding out his last month for as long as he can make it before he ends up with his wonderful, life-changing little one.

-

That little one comes exactly a week sooner than expected. Movie night with Niall is cut short when the first contractions hit, because Harry has always had quite low pain tolerance. Niall rushes him to the hospital while practically screaming from excitement and fear, while Harry sits next to him practicing all those breathing techniques that he never seriously considered using.

When he’s actually laying in the bed in the maternity ward waiting for the next contraction (eight minutes apart at this point) is when the first longings for Louis really hit. He’s always sort of wanted him by his side, even knowing that, well, he barely knows Louis. But he’s got Louis’s beautiful little one on the way, and all he can think about is how he wishes Louis were there with him, to hold his hand and tell him everything will be okay and that their little bean will be fine because they’ll both be raising her together.

But Louis still knows nothing, and Harry’s not sure at this point that that will ever change.

-

Thirteen hours of labour and Darcy Styles is born into the world. Her cries are terribly horribly loud and Harry loves her terribly horribly much.

-

At one month old, Niall starts calling her Ducky because when she tires herself out crying she starts making a noise that sounds suspiciously like quacking. The nickname sticks.

-

Harry doesn’t know what exactly he’s trying to do. Will Louis even remember him at this point? Harry was just a one-night-stand. It was wonderful, but it was just a night almost a year ago now; it could be that Harry is remembering it with fond memories because Louis was his idol and it resulted in the biggest change of his life. Has Louis forgotten him?

Nonetheless, he feels something deep inside of him telling him that his little duckling deserves to meet her father. She’s not even old enough to remember this concert when she grows up, but Harry is confident he’s going to take her to every one she can.

That’s why he’s standing backstage right now, having snuck behind a truck unloading parts of the set earlier. The arena they’re performing in tonight is the town’s football stadium, so he’s been here more than a couple times. He sort of kind of knows his way around after doing a couple photography gigs for the footballers, and heads for where the players’ lounges are, assuming that’s where they’ll be.

After a point he’s ushered along by signs pointing the right directions for things like the makeup room and dressing rooms for Liam, Zayn...

And there’s Louis’s dressing room. Would he be in there? Who knows? Harry’s starting to think this is probably going to turn out with him getting escorted out by security. Honestly probably the only reason he hasn’t yet is because he’s not what security would generally look for in a fan - a twenty-something father with an infant in a sling across his chest. Ducky’s starting to fall asleep by now too, having been lulled by his rhythmic footsteps down the corridors.

“Hey! Excuse me, you don’t seem to have a backstage pass. I’m going to have ot ask you to come with me back to the front of the arena.”

Harry turns around to see a burly security guard approaching him, and struggles between the idea of just trying to open Louis’s door, and simply going with the security guard. This was a dumb idea anyway, and it was a miracle he even got this far without any sort of meet and greet.

He shrugs and turns to go down the hallways in the way the security guard is motioning, but just as he does the door to Louis’s dressing room cracks open.

“Whassat, Daniel? What are you yelling about now?”

Oh dear, Louis looks so good. He’s got his hair all done up and he’s clearly already dressed to go onstage, his in-ears hanging loosely around his neck. Harry freezes, his arms wrapped subconsciously around Ducky.

“Harry...?” Louis squints at him. “I don’t have my contacts in but you look suspiciously like a beautiful boy who never called me back quite a while ago. What are you doing here?”

Harry is rather speechless. He glances back at Daniel, who seems to be trying to convey to Louis in covert glances that he should not be welcoming in boys with babies who wander around hallways where they are not welcome.

“I, well, I was looking for you, actually...” 

“Oh yeah?” Louis opens his door a little wider and beckons Harry in. “Well I’ve got a good fifteen minutes until sound check. I suppose I can make time just this once. Next time send me a note to get a backstage pass though, so my bodyguard doesn’t accidentally shoe away the cute ones.” He winks at Harry, which in turn makes Harry blush terribly. 

So, following Louis soon leads to a cute little dressing room that is mostly taken up by two couches covered in more plush pillows than Harry thinks he has ever seen in one place in his life. He carefully places himself on one of the couches, as directed by Louis’s waving hands, and is given a freshly poured cup of tea before Louis sits down next to him with a matching mug.

“Who’s this beautiful little one then?” Louis asks after a moment of silence, clearly perceiving that Harry isn’t about to start speaking on his own. Honestly, Harry thinks he might not be able to speak any longer. He may have lost the ability. Oh dear goodness it’s been almost a year, Louis’s on a whole different world tour. What would he want to do with a boy he met in a nightclub one night?

Just then Ducky makes a huffing noise and pops her dummy out of her mouth, forcing Harry back to reality as he makes a grab for it before it falls onto the carpet. “This is, ah, Ducky- I mean Darcy.” He leans forward as he tucks the dummy back into Ducky’s mouth so that she and Louis can come face to face. Ducky’s missing her nap time right now so she’s really on the grumpy side, but she gives Louis one of her happier expression in return for the silly faces he starts pulling.

“She’s precious. Where’s her parents? Don’t tell me you got stuck on babysitting duty during my concert!” Louis makes an offended face and Harry wants to laugh except, well, the truth gets caught in his throat instead.

Ducky’s parents are right here.

“I, um, Louis.” Harry gulps. “There’s something I have to tell you...” He thinks he might throw up. He tries to envision Louis naked because that’s what public speakers do when they’re gettin stage fright, isn’t it? But of course that doesn’t help because Louis is really hot and Harry knows first hand that he’s even MORE hot when he’s naked, and now he’s just thinking of how incredibly sexy Louis is in general. Damn it.

Louis is looking at him encouragingly though, so Harry forces hot naked Louis out of his mind. “It’s just that she’s mine?” he squeaks, desperate to get the truth out. “Well, and yours? I mean. Fuck. She’s ours?”

He shuts his eyes terribly fast after he finishes speaking, afraid of whatever Louis’s reaction is going to be. Then he opens them almost instantly afterward - what if Louis doesn’t believe him? That’s an option that didn’t even cross Harry’s mind! Until just now! So he immediately searches Louis’s face for any trace of uncertainty or, well, any emotion at all.

To his credit, Louis doesn’t have much of an expression at all. Harry takes a moment to appreciate how good looking he is, even when being barraged with information about children he didn’t know he had.

But then Louis is focusing on Ducky. Little Ducky, who’s happily sucking away at her dummy and flailing her arms every once in a while, as she loves to do. She’s dangerously close to grabbing a lock of Harry’s hair. 

“How can you be sure?” is what Louis says eventually. He doesn’t sound elated or upset or anything like that, just... soft. The kind of voice that parents take on when their babies are around. Soft.

“I, um... I don’t generally do one-night-stands,” Harry says, one hand petting Ducky’s angel-soft hair. “And, well, there hasn’t been anyone else. Since you. Or really for quite a while before you... And there’s been no Jane the Virgin-type scenarios, so... Yeah. I’m pretty sure. Oh! But we can do a blood test if you like! I wouldn’t just expect you to believe me at my word, we don’t really know each other after all!” 

Louis nods. “I suppose that would be a good plan. Not that I don’t believe you, it’s just good to have documentation. I mean, Darcy here is more documentation than most of the girls going on Twitter and trying to prove they’re pregnant with my child but, you know. Smart moves and all that.” He hasn’t really taken his eyes off Ducky and now he’s sticking a finger out for her to grab onto, which she does happily. “So are you here for money then? To help raise her?”

Harry’s eyebrows knit together. Is that what Louis thinks of him? “Absolutely not!” He says, rather more indignantly than he meant to. “We’re doing perfectly well so far, and we’re going to continue to do perfectly well - that’s not it at _all_.” 

He finds himself pulling back from Louis and taking little Ducky with him. She has other ideas, however, as her hold on Louis’s finger doesn’t lessen and he ends up getting pulled along with her. 

“Whoa, no wait! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for it to come out like that,” Louis hastens to assure. He keeps his eyes on Ducky, reaching out another hand to caress her soft curls. “I just, you know, if she is mine, well, I do want to support her.” He glances up at Harry. “And you. You shouldn’t have to do this sort of thing alone.”

Harry stays silent for a moment. He doesn’t exactly disagree - the money would definitely be helpful, if not for his sake then for Ducky’s. Harry has always been quite proud, runs in the family really, and it wouldn’t be easy for him to do. But if it’s not for him...

“Do you... Would you like to hold her?” he asks instead, changing the subject. Louis meets his eye and tentatively nods, excitement evident. 

So Harry carefully takes her out of the sling. She wriggles and coos a little, and when Harry gives her a grin she splits into the most beautiful toothless smile. Louis takes hold of her like she’s made of glass and cradles her like she’s a flower that’ll wilt at a moment’s notice.

“I’m, I wasn’t here about money,” Harry says, trying to form the words that he needs to say. “I’m here because of Ducky. That’s what we call Darcy, you see. She deserves to know both her parents, you know? I don’t want her to grow up only knowing of her father instead of _knowing_ him, you know?”

Louis nods, not breaking contact with Ducky. For all the seriousness of the moment, he’s pulling a number of silly faces to make Ducky let out the most wondrous little gurgly giggles.

“So then... Why didn’t you ever call me?” Louis asks. “I mean, of course I’d love to be there for her, every opportunity I have. But why did it take until now to contact me?”

Harry runs a hand through his hair. “I mean, it’s not exactly easy trying to get ahold of you! I’m sure there’s thousands of fans trying to contact you, so I cant actually do anything through Twitter unless you’re following me, and I don’t exactly know where you live because it has been quite a while since I was at your house, and even if if I weren’t I think that would be sort of _weird_ to show up at someone’s house one day like, oh look I’m pregnant! ...Except of course that that’s exactly what I’m doing now, except with an actual child instead of being pregnant...” He gave Louis a bit of a desperate and exasperated look.

“I’m feeling,” says Louis slowly. “Like maybe you didn’t see the number I wrote on the side of the coffee cup I gave you.”

Harry blinks at him. “You wrote a number on my coffee cup?”

The coffee cup? The cup that he brought home and cleaned and has been drinking his coffee out of pretty much every morning even after it got rather melty from a dishwashing accident? The coffee cup that he keeps because he got it from Louis? That coffee cup?

Louis drops his head forward. “Ducky.” he says very seriously to the baby in his arms. “He didn’t see the number.” He boops Ducky on the nose. “The number that I so carefully wrote on the side of the cup in the _hopes_ that a very cute boy would text me. So that a very cute boy and I could possibly go on an actual date. What’s wrong with that very cute boy? I spent a whole year thinking I had been rejected!”

“Never!” Harry gasped. “I- oh! I spilled coffee down myself before I even got inside my house that day! I had to wash the cup after that, I must have washed the numbers off! Oh good gracious. I can’t believe this.”

Louis giggles at him. “Well, I at least am very happy to know that I wasn’t actually spurned.”

“Yeah it’s, um, it’s nice to know you wanted to see me again,” Harry says sheepishly.

Just then, Ducky hiccoughs. Louis jumps a little in response and looks at her with wide eyes, making Harry giggle in return. A moment later, they both jump because the alarm on Louis’s phone goes off.

“Oh,” Louis says, beginning to hand Ducky back to Harry. “That’s my cue to get me arse on stage, sorry.”

He stands after safely depositing Ducky in Harry’s arms. The first thing he does is take the badge around his neck and string it around Harry’s. “Do you have a ticket? Or did you sneak into the arena altogether?” 

“I’ve got tickets!” Harry argues, affronted. 

“Front row?”

“Well, no...”

“Now you do. That pass works to get you into the family section up front. Go introduce her to her grandmother and all her aunts. And make sure you grab some children’s headphones to protect her little ears!” He runs about as he talks, throwing on and off clothing and accessories, before turning back to Harry and bending down to him, placing his hands on Harry’s shoulders. “This is the most inconvenient concert I’ve ever had,” he tells him solemly. “There is nothing I’d love more than to talk to you and your - _my_ \- beautiful daughter for the rest of the night. So that means that you’d _better not_ disappear again this time, you hear me? Meet me back here after it ends. I’m not letting you slip away again.”

Harry nods, mouth open and cheeks a little pinker than he’d admit. They go another five shades darker when Louis plants a delicate kiss on his forehead and runs out.

-

Meeting the family that night is a little awkward, as Harry realises that Louis did not inform them in any way of his joining them. All his little sisters squeal over Ducky, and his Mum looks at him with the wariness of a mother bear protecting her cub, but she warms up to him fairly quickly (which Harry is extremely thankful for, later on he thinks about how he doesn’t know what he would do without her).

The end of the night means meeting Louis again, who is high with end-of-concert adrenaline and the first thing he does when he walks through the door of the dressing room is to plant a big kiss right on Harry’s mouth.

(Which he then spends ten minutes apologising for because he _just got so excited while onstage_ and all he could think about up there _was my boy and my baby_ and _oh I’m so sorry but this is so amazing_ , so that’s certainly something. Harry cant say he’s particularly upset.

Louis is, of course, still in the middle of a world tour, and has to leave the next morning, while Harry has to get Ducky fed and to bed on time, so after that night they only speak through text to organise their next meet up when Louis is back in town, three weeks later.

It takes a while, with dates few and far between with the two of their differing schedules, although the money Louis sends back to him does help ease the burden quite a bit (although Harry always insists it isn’t necessary) - he’s able to cut back to part time and Louis’s mum is more than happy to help with nannying (his little sisters are too, but honestly they’re a bit... overenthusiastic about it all which worries Harry a little.

Still, they learn to make it work.

It isn’t until the tour ends and Louis is finally back at home that Harry even meets Liam and Zayn, although they turn out to be extremely helpful in spilling Louis’s dirty secrets (his horrible embarrassing secondary school photos) and tour stories.

Louis officially asks Harry to be his boyfriend around that time too. It’s another eight months before they get engaged, right before the start of their next England tour, which Harry and Ducky join them on.

And so begins the new era of Harry’s life - the one with Louis Tomlinson right at his side and their daughter between them.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr at [LondonFoginaCup](http://londonfoginacup.tumblr.com/), and if you're so inclined you can reblog [the fic post!](http://londonfoginacup.tumblr.com/post/151776794734/a-hand-to-hold-and-a-hand-held)


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